Mother Earth, Mother Earth, Mother Earth
by Writer Awakened
Summary: FE6 and 7 The life of a Sacaen warrior. One who reveres the earth under the sky knows, without fail, their final destination.


_Mother Earth_

-

I don't know why I fight. I am proud, proud to fight, but I don't fight for pride. I just fight. At least I know why I _remember_. I remember because I _can _remember. Perhaps it was because I was born on the plains. I know the peaceful embrace of Mother Earth and the rough smile of Father Sky. I remember from long ago—maturing, seeing the womenfolk with the baskets balanced on their heads, they told me how lucky I was to have been born with the coming of peace to Elibe. Ah, they believed it would last forever! I remember the chimes that hung from some of the tents. I remember we moved from place to place often. From a young age my father taught me how to ride a horse and shoot a bow, and Chief Dayan taught me to swing a sword. He told me I was a good omen, born at the coming of dawn. What was it that he told me?

Ah yes, that I had been a "child of peace". But I grew older fighting. I adored fighting. I enjoyed the thrill of being a warrior, the pride of being a child of the plains and defending our land. I knew who I was. It was my father—no, it was Chief Dayan who told me to stand tall and listen to the sound of the wind whistle by me, and to smell the scent of the green and brown grass on the plains. He taught me to love the land in which I was born.

When was it little Yahan died? I was a young child, then…yes, I saw my shriveled little brother bawling and then stopping suddenly. And then my mother crying in pain, and I didn't understand it then, and I saw all the men with my father carrying shovels. Next day, I didn't see Yahan. I didn't understand then that I would never see Yahan again. I think that was the last day I saw my mother also—was it? When was she buried? I can't remember. I was still so young. I feel cold.

Father went away when I was ten, about ten, I believe. I don't know why, I don't know when, just—one day he went away, and I never saw him again. Why can't I remember his name? He was only ever 'Father' to me. But Chief Dayan—he really thought of me as his son, didn't he? Did he ever—no, no, I don't think he ever had a son. Chief Dayan taught me the bow—no, taught me to _master _the bow, to ride a horse properly, to wield a sword. Then he told me to never use these things, that a warrior made was a warrior forever, that a warrior dies a warrior's death. I did not listen. I wanted to die a warrior's death, and I kept that with me forever. There was nobody else, no one else who spoke to me so honestly. He's a good man, Chief Dayan is.

But I treasured them. I treasured my life. The proud people who live and die under the name Kutolah, they accepted me, they gave me a home. I enjoyed those days. I enjoyed my coming of age a few years past, when the chief broke the jar of wine over my head—it tasted sweet—was that the first time I had ever tasted sweet?—and my fingers tasted like blood when I ran them through my hair. Do you love Mother Earth?, they said. Do you love Mother Earth? That's where the proud folk of Sacae go when they die—they told me we all go to Mother Earth when we died. I wanted to. I wanted to be a proper man of Sacae so I could know the warm embrace of Mother Earth when I died. That was a warrior's death.

And then I grew older. The days came when I charged through the plains on my horse wearing the proud headdress of a man, and I remember the sounds of the hunters roaming in packs looking for food. I felt so free then. I loved running past those circles of tents—yes, the cloth, the animal-skins, and the smell of cinnamon. I loved that smell. A sweet smell. I want to smell it again. I want to hear the sounds of the chimes again. I want to hear them again. What happened to that? Sweet tastes tasted worse the older I became. The village ladies were too concerned with the new children to bake us menfolk pies, I suppose. That's when I started believing myself invincible, and that was only because I didn't understand. Those days running free, I never wanted to take a wife, never wanted children; they would grow up in a world they could not understand, a world where no one bakes with cinnamon and no one hangs the chimes on the tents, and everyone else is too busy to throw a shawl over your shoulders in the cold night. I feel cold.

Then, soon after, the people began to speak, first in whispers, then in roars. It was—when was it? It was some time ago, when Chief Dayan had said there were stirrings in Bern and Bulgar. Then shortly after we heard that those of the Djute had made an alliance with Bern and it was not long before we saw them turn their arrows on us. We saw their swords run through our fathers, their arrows lodged in our brothers, and before we knew it they were sneering at us, suddenly too mighty to share the plains with us. They came from across the rivers and the plains, and they took many of us by surprise, and that was the first time I had seen Chief Dayan so angry, and then the soldiers from Bern came. Their red armor—angry, hateful! And then I met up with them, the Djute men who killed us and flayed our skins in the name of our gods. May they die never knowing the embrace of Mother Earth! May their bows be turned against them tenfold! May they never know the sound of the wind! I rode on, through the plains, alone, into their encampment, my sword screaming for their blood. I hate them. I...

I—

—I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs anymore. I can't feel my arms. Father Sky, I can barely feel anything. But I know what they are doing. I can't move, can't even open my eyes. I can hear it. I can hear the sounds of shovels from somewhere above me, digging into the earth. I am in a hole; they put me there. I know. I can feel it. Something cold and heavy falling on me, dull like the wind. I can taste the dirt in my mouth, I can feel the dirt weighing on my chest, slowly growing heavier. Damned men of the Djute...I can barely hear them laughing at me. I can't remember the feeling of grass against my feet—oh, Mother Earth, Mother Earth, embrace me. I fear. I am afraid. I thought it would be warm here, surrounded by your arms. Maybe I was selfish. This is a warrior's death, this is what we all reap. Only cold.


End file.
